Paint it Black
by altertalian-doodle
Summary: I found my corner of peace with my art, trying to sort out this mess of antidepressants. I was fine staying like this, with my stagnated at was before my classmate Alfred dragged me to a coffee shop. That was before I met Ame, before Drama poked its godammed head back into my life and I learned to move on from the past I lived in. *Rusame*angsty teens*
1. Anons

This is your token incompetent author speaking. I finally brought myself to post this thing here. Enjoy.

* * *

 _I love your art!_

 _OMG your art is so good!_

 _Lol this is kind of weird but I think you're really awesome. Keep on drawing!_

 _I love this blog!_

I want to met you, but I won't be what you expect. You'll be expecting some hipster with an art aesthetic. You know, bonsai trees on the windowsills and annotated poetry. Not a post-depression screwup jacked on meds, somebody who hides scars under long sleeves. It was a miracle I actually got into somewhere as good as Himayura University, where one of your roommates majors in Psychology and the other's going to be a sergeant in the army, and you're probably the black sheep.

You're probably done with this by now. I don't blame you, everyone hates those depressed painter vibes.

That's me, basically. I take classes that marginally interest me and manage to not fail them, and devote the rest of my time trying to make something of this Novocaine fog. I hate these meds so much, but without them I'll be drowning myself in the bathtub, leaving Yao to find my cold, dead body.

Sorry. Is it too early to make morbid jokes?

Right now, the only thing keeping me from doing just that is my art. Someone in this world logs onto Tumblr every fucking day to admire my art blog, and I just don't have the heart to kill myself if I'm making someone that happy.

These anons are saints, I swear. They make me devote my life to making work after work, pouring it into this endless digital void where it'll rot until the end of time.

So I just posted one of my newer works, black cranes against a grayscale scene of Hiroshima's ground zero. The anons are already flowing in.

 _everything u draw is so pretty! keep up the good work! ;)_

One of them always ends their message with a winky face… Though it seems like he or she forgot to anonymize it. Judging from his url, wait, no, and from the first picture on his blog he's a porn guy. Those blogs are like public workers. You know they exist and you've seen them before, but you've never actually interacted with one.

But well, when you do, you treat them like anybody else, and tell him his cover's blown.

So, uhh… IM? His url's American-Beauty...

 _Thanks, that's really sweet of you._

I tap the keys lightly. Should I tell him he didn't anon it? Would he take that as me not, like, appreciating him or something? Would it be sort of stalkerish? This is so not what I'm force feeding myself antidepressants for... Questions like these should be for happy assholes who would probably find the cure to cancer or something... Like Gilbert. Wait, no he's already on his way to being a sergeant... That cheerful Indian dude, then.

Oh, screw it. Keep it simple, dumbass.

He replies a few minutes later.

 _wait wat do i know u?_

 _oh yeah sorry youre the art blogger i follow. how did u find my url i anon my stuff_

Now that I think about it, he seems like one of those guys who are either really clueless or really funny.

 _You forgot to anon your last ask thing. That was really nice of you._

I read it over and quickly type out some sort of clarification. What if he takes it the wrong way and thinks I'm some perv?

 _The supportive comment I mean._

 _This is really nerve-wracking. I don't really talk to anyone unless I personally know them…_

 _Oh, yeah, what should I call you?_

It's all a huge glob of socially anxious text. This is why I hate my life.

 _lol it's fine i don't really talk to anyone here either. youre welcome_

 _call me ame or something idc_

 _Sure._

He's really sunny... The kind of guy that everyone would smile at. Almost everyone, I haven't done so in a long time.

Yao, my roommate, walks over and whacks my head. "Aiya, the screen's bad for your eyes. Stop it."

"You're not my mom."

He nudges my head "I'm like your impromptu therapist."

"Not really..."

He kind of growls, in a frustrated sort of way. "Just... Do you want to go somewhere? Gilbert's bringing people over."

I live in a triple. Gilbert's the other roommate, and the most obnoxious German albino on the face of the earth. He'll insist that he's Prussian and drink the hell out of everyone on any given day. But then again... I really don't want to go out. Besides, I can probably sleep through it... I feel kind of tired.

I wave off Yao. "I can sleep it through. Or if not, I'll chew him out. Calligraphy pen blazing and all that."

"Alright then. Your choice."

He leaves and I flop onto my unmade bed. No point in making it look nice if I'm just going to mess it up again. I don't change, sweatpants and a Mechanical Poet hoodie are comfy enough. Instead, I burrow into my sheets. Don't wake me up, you little fuckers.

A few hours later, or maybe only minutes, Gilbert busted through the door with a bunch of his friends in tow. I blink the sleepiness from my eyes and grope for my glasses. He better not smash whiskey bottles this time... I can hear him and his friends screwing around.

I hear the sound of breaking glass "Dude, that was the only bottle of vodka!"

Okay, now that's a total sin. Nobody wastes precious, cheap-ass vodka. I stand up and adjust my shirt collar, even though I already have my neck covered in bandages, which they're probably completely aware of as of now. I open the door and am greeted by the sight of a fairly drunk Gilbert balancing a couple bottles of alcohol, his friends trying to clean up the mess. I've seen the blonde one before... I think he's in my Astronomy class.

I'm too tired to deal with this shit... "Keep it the fuck down... I'm trying to sleep..."

* * *

Last night didn't really work out that well. Gilbert and his buddies wouldn't shut up, so I basically lied in bed pondering the reason for my existence.

Yao made some rice porridge or another for breakfast, he's like a mother hen or something. He was all like 'You should have some food', but I never have breakfast. I haven't since I was able walk out the door first in mostly black, long-sleeved clothing with a shitty attitude. Because life is too much of a bitch and I really don't care anymore. But Yao won't stop trying to help my depression. He's trying, a lot, and I guess that should be appreciated, but I just want to wait in this depressive fog until it comes crashing down and I hurl myself off the Doitsuist cathedral.

No, I'm not serious. Not now at least.

Astronomy is in the Arts & Sciences building. I usually sit in the back and doodle, letting all those facts bounce off my head and then borrow notes from the guy next to me. The stories are kind of cool, though. It's nice to hear that some people had really fucking screwed up lives. I'm not alone.

But today is sort of weird. This blonde guy on the other side of the room keeps staring at me. It's Gilbert's friend. Yes, I'm fucking emo, okay? Stop looking at me like some live specimen. I don't know, maybe he'll tell him stories of me taking naps in here or something. I won't care.

"All right, guys. Don't forget you'll be tested on this tomorrow. Bye!"

Maybe if I go talk to him he'll stop looking at me weird. Besides, I need to copy someone's notes, I want to keep this straight B- average.

The blonde guy walked up to me and nudged my shoulder "Hey man, you seem pretty cool. Wanna go get coffee or something?"

"... If you're paying."

He grins "Awesome. The name's Alfred F. Jones. Now, what's your opinion on Starbucks?"

"I'm not a coffee person. My roommate makes some pretty good bubble tea, though." I should have brought my earbuds, this is really awkward. "Can I copy your notes?"

* * *

bluh bluh I suffer from a state of inactivity help me. I'm screwing around on tumblr and listening to punk rock instead of being productive

Anyways, review this thing please and thank


	2. You

Bluh bluh here's the next chapter bluh bluh

* * *

And so Alfred dragged me to the Starbucks across the street. "Yeah, man, did you know you can get a butterbeer frap? Fucking awesome."

"I'm really more of a tea person..."

He pauses "Woah, don't tell me you're British. Ivan, right?"

I pull on the sleeves of my sweatshirt. "Yeah... Originally, I'm from Manhattan. My mom's Russian, and my dad was from one of those Northern countries."

"Cool. What're you gonna have?"

"... Green tea latte."

"Pfft, boring. Imma try the Nitro cold."

I stare at him. "In _October_ ?"

"Hey, I don't really go here often. Hey, what's Arktida?" He points at my hoodie.

"Metal band."

Alfred's from the DC area. He's basically a stereotypical American. You know, burgers and football, that stuff. He's obsessed with Marvel and anime, and is currently interested in sort of space major. He has a twin brother named Matthew, who plays for Hima's hockey team. He lives in the Gentosha building, same one as mine, with his Danish roommate. Yeah, he's friends with Gilbert. No, he didn't smash the vodka bottle. For some reason he wants to know more about me. I'm sort of weirded out, but he seems pretty nice.

"So what do you do in your spare time?"

"I used to do ice hockey and ballet. Now it's just art."

"Woah, can I see your art? I can't draw."

 _He probably isn't expecting your depressing-ass works._ "I don't like showing it to anyone."

"Aww, please?"

"Nope."

"Wait, wait, hold on, you did ballet? You don't seem like the type..."

The depressed lose interest in hobbies. I'm not telling why I did, though. "Stuff came up."

"You should've continued." He grins brightly. "You'd be pretty sexy in a black leotard. Just, I dunno, trim your hair a little and get new glasses. Those guys are, like, falling apart."

My pale blonde hair is at that length where it's kind of long for a guy, but still really short for a girl. My bangs are hanging down and covering my eyes, so I should probably get a haircut or something. But I don't have the energy to. My glasses are understandable, though. The Ray-Bans are taped in four different places, but the lenses are still miraculously in good shape.

I sip my tea latte. "I really don't know why I'm keeping these glasses." I know completely why I should get rid of them, but people'll ask about my purple eyes, and 'they used to be blue' will just wind down into more shit.

"No worries, man. I'll go with you to get a new pair." Alfred grabs my glasses. "Holy fuck, that is so cool. How did I not notice you had purple eyes?"

"They were originally blue..."

"Contacts?"

Bless his soul for being so clueless. "Yeah." I lie.

All of the sudden he bolts up "Fuck, dude, I gotta run to my next class. What's your number?"

"Two zero two, five five five, zero one two six."

"Cool. See ya!"

"Bye."

The walk back to Gentosha is cold and lonely, insert more depressing poetic stuff here. But seriously, I'm walking a lonely road not wearing anything under my hoodie. Worst idea ever, Vanya.

Once I'm in my dorm, I eat my share of what was intended as breakfast. It usually happens that way. I don't eat what Yao made in the morning, then in the span of Astronomy class and some other random shit I feel guilty and eat it anyway. Cold rice porridge tastes horrible, but I'm too tired to go heat it up.

I proceed to fight a cold war with Photoshop and my drawing tablet... Or maybe I'm just using the wrong file type. Screw it, I can just use one of my old, unposted works. I'm talking to Ame.

 _Are you there?_

He replies a few minutes later.

 _yeah wat up_

 _Nothing much I just wanna talk..._

 _sure i have time what about?_

 _I dont know... Have you ever felt nothing? Like, your best friend could die and you feel sad, but you're barely aware of it..._

 _wow so poetic, but no. y u ask?_

 _Nothing in particular._

 _u ok?_

Rhetorical question. No, Ame, I'm on antidepressants. How am I ok?

 _I'm ok_

 _thats good 2 kno_ :)

 _Uh... IDK what music do you like?_

 _lol i listen 2 a lot of stuff_

 _but i rly like my chemical romance_

 _I haven't listened to them but I've heard they're pretty good._

 _I listen to stuff like Nightwish and Green Day._ 'The Poet and The Pendulum' is currently blasting in my ears.

 _yeah green days pretty good._

 _have you been on my blog?_

 _r u gay?_

 _What kind of question is that_

 _sry just wanna know_

 _No, I haven't really been on your blog._

 _ok thats good it would be sort of weird if u did_

 _You don't look at nudes of your new acquaintance. Common sense. But that was kind of out of the blue..._

 _yeah lol_

 _I like you a lot. In a completely platonic way as of now._

 _as of now?_ ;)

I roll my eyes. _You never know._

I guess Gilbert creeped up behind me or something. "Hey, Vodka Emo, you're going with me."

No, Gilbert. I'm not going anywhere with you. "No thanks."

"Aw, c'mon! Matthias owes me fifty dollars and I need moral support!"

You're talking to somebody who wears long sleeves not because he's cold, but because he has old cut scars on his wrists. Get somebody else.

"Nah, you're going with me anyways. I'll drag you out if I have to." I really don't know if he did that to annoy me...

I type out a sort of farewell to my Tumblr mutual.

 _Hey, Ame I have to go._

 _thats cool c u later_

Gilbert drags me to a room down the hall and starts kicking the door. "Open up, dude! I want my money!"

This tall guy with messy blonde hair opens the door. "Sheesh, Gil, I'm poor."

"You've got to have fifty dollars somewhere. I won that fucking bet!"

I leave the two scrubs to fight it 's a lot of photography equipment in the corner. Alfred's sitting at a desk working on some random stuff, which seems really coincidental until I remember he's Gilbert's friend. So Matthias must be the Danish roommate. Then the other guy sitting on one of the beds... Is my cousin Lukas.

I should probably explain my family a little. My mom's name is Yelena Arlovskaya, and she immigrated from the USSR some shit long time ago. My dad's name was Erik Braginsky. He was from one of those Nordic countries, but somehow wound up with the Russian surname. He went to the US for college or something. They had me, Yekaterina, and Natalia. My dad had a twin brother, Uncle Leif. Uncle Leif's kids are my cousins Tino, Lukas, and Emil. Their last names are different because my aunt's a feminist, so they were the Bondeviks, not the Braginskys. We used to be pretty close, but then my dad died. Some drunk guy just barreled into his car. His chest got crushed. We kind of drifted apart, and interaction between me and my uncle's family became nonexsistent. So I had no fucking idea that Lukas would be going to Hima. Or that he has something to do with someone in this room.

Needless to say, it was really awkward. "So... Why are you here?"

Lukas maintains his perpetual poker face. He's like a robot. "I applied and they accepted me. Why else?"

"No, I mean here in this dorm."

He raises an eyebrow. "I may or may not be dating that Danish idiot."

"You're gay? Does Uncle Leif know you're dating someone?"

"Are you a homophobe?"

Homophobes are the reason why I'm all fucked up, Lukas. You should know. Oh wait, dad died and you broke off contact with us before we could tell you.

I'm not going to dignify that question with an answer, so instead I go ask Alfred for his notes.

"Dude, your dad died? Sorry about that..."

I shake my head. "I've mostly gotten over it. Can I copy your notes?"

He throws his notebook at me.

"Thanks. I'll return them later."

"Give them back to me tomorrow, you can keep it overnight."

"Are you sure? We have that test tomorrow..."

Alfred smiles. "I can risk a C. You probably need help, though. Half the time I see you napping in the back of the room."

"True... Thanks, I guess."

"No prob, dude." I think I saw him wink at me? It's kind of cute...

I go over to Gilbert and Matthias. Gilbert's holding the fifty dollars like he's Rafiki and the money's Simba. You know, that part in the beginning of The Lion KIng. "Come on. You got your money and I need my godammed sleep."

That's a partial lie. It's hard for me to fall asleep, even if I'm tired. Fucking stupid depression stuff, I guess.

* * *

Review, please and thank, because reviewing turns your potential fabulousness into kinetic


	3. Insomnia

Bluh I'll post the next three chapters later don't yell at me

* * *

Have you ever woken up at the asscrack of dawn, fucking tired, but unable to fall asleep? I'm just lying in my bed, looking out the window, at the blurry stars. I can hear Yao's breathing, and Gilbert's snores from the other end of the room.

Because of light pollution, there are few stars left. I find the North Star, and trace out Ursa Major. She used to be a nymph called Callisto, turned into a bear by Hera.

Sagittarius. The immortal centaur Chiron, shot by an arrow tipped with Hydra poison. He gave up his immortality and took the place of Prometheus. You know, getting his insides ripped out by a vulture.

I smile grimly. I'm not the only one with a screwed up life, at least.

I stand up and make my way to the bathroom. I have two razors. One's the one I use for shaving. The other's my backup razor, the old school kind that looks like a folding knife. I haven't used it in a long time...

I go back to bed and stare at the ceiling for god knows how long... until I either fell back asleep or it all blended together.

The morning sun is nothing more than Satan's flashlight. If I didn't love the stars so much, I would've never taken the window bed.

I roll out of bed and change into these old black skinny jeans. There's a My Chemical Romance t-shirt sitting in the back of my closet, something I've been meaning to wear, but I'm too much of a coward to show my old scars. Instead, I grab a hoodie I got from the Bolshoi Theatre, back when my dad was alive and we went on some trip to Russia.

"Did you take your meds?" Yao asks as I trudge down the hallway. He's wearing a button up, like for an interview or a date or something.

"Of course, you don't see me slashing my neck with a butter knife."

I know he's trying to help me, but he shouldn't stress himself over someone who he'll forget about next year.

"Have a good-"

I close the door as he says 'day'. The best days I have are ones that don't end in me doing some depressing shit. Those are rare.

Usually, I walk alone on my way to the Arts and Sciences building. But today, Alfred runs up and tackles me into a hug. I'm really not one for human contact, but with him, it feels like he's trying to spread around that sunny nature of his.

"Heey, dude, you ready for that test? I'm sure as hell not."

"What? You let me borrow your notebook even though you didn't study?"

"Yeah?"

I swat his head. "You shouldn't do that."

He pouts. "Even for you?"

I shake my head "Don't even."

He sticks his tongue out at me. "Too bad. I wanna." Then he kisses my cheek and runs off, leaving me at the side of the road, with my hand on my face.

"... What."

I think I'm blushing. Am I? When I look over at Alfred, he's looking away from me, but I see that his ears are red.

After the test, I'm walking out of the lecture hall listening to the dark tones of 'Paint it, Black'. I find it amusing how the Rolling Stones see depression. I feel the darkness, but not the need to bring anyone down with me. It's sitting inside me like the calm before the storm, and I'm just waiting for the rain to fall.

"Dude, you're like Hima's Dylan MacIntyre." Alfred's still blushing a little.

"Who?"

"What?! He's like The Thing on Quora! You're totally like him. Emo vibes, listening to music, long sleeves, whatever."

"I don't use Quora..."

He pats my shoulder. "No wonder, you poor, internet-deprived cinnamon roll. Go look him up."

I smile, just a little. "Remind me later." I say, quietly, before walking away.

There's a visual arts class in the same building, something I've signed up for but never actually attended in weeks, mostly because the French guy kind of scares me. His name's Francis, and I guess he's pretty nice, but he can be crazy at times... Anyway, I left my art stuff back at the dorm, but maybe I could find some peace in the studio.

The studio is a beautiful place, on the top floor of the building. There's a floor to ceiling window with a view of the campus, and we get access to the roof if you want to paint the sky. Wooden easels are stacked in the corner, people setting up their workspace in a way that you have to weave through plots of stools and canvases. It feels so different from my room, with me scribbling out something on my tablet.

The best thing, though, is that it calms my nerves. No obnoxious German roommates slamming the door, or psych majors nagging you about your condition. If I wasn't so depressed, I could say it makes me happy... Except for Francis.

Francis Bonnefoy is your typical Frenchman. Art perfectionist, dirty jokes, and probably a good cook. He's a nice person, if a little touchy feely, but he's scary when going through one of what we call his 'Napoleon Phases'. The food strike that happened last month? That was him. The French Revolution-type flash mob? You guessed it. He actually managed to make a historically accurate Guillotine, though that was probably also because of that large-eyebrowed Brit I see him annoying at times.

So rule of thumb, if you're a depressed little shit, you'd stay away from the crazy stuff that happens on campus and its perpetrators.

I manage to pull up a stool and some art supplies to the window before he decides to start annoying me.

"Ah, Ivan, it's been some time since I've seen you, non? How have you been?"

I crack my knuckles. "Fine."

"I'm not so sure about that, mon ami. There is an aura of _saudade_ about you."

"It's called _toska_ in Russian. The feeling of spiritual anguish, whatever, right?"

He laughs. "Like the French artist who slash and burns his art."

"I'm surprised that's not you..."

"No, I'm too fabulous for that."

We were pretty good friends for a while, before I got too freaked out over his Napoleon Phases. Now I just sit by the window, sketching out the form of flying birds, while he paints a variation of _Liberty Leading the People_.

 _Tempest-tossed islands, seasons all the same_  
 _Anchorage unpainted, a ship without a name_

"This is for long forgotten light at the edge of the world... Horizon crying, the tears he left behind long ago~" I sing quietly, almost like a whisper, completely alone.

* * *

Reviewing protects you from Donald Trump's idiocy and betters other countries' opinion of the US


	4. Apathy

When I said later, I meant way later, after I actually finished chapter 6. I was out of the country for the whole of July and didn't manage to bring myself over to this until now. Sorry.

Otherwise, I forgot how much of a hassle copy pasting this from Ao3 is.

* * *

I didn't finish the bird sketch, so I took it with me back to the dorm. Usually I would draw cranes or ravens, but this time I drew eagles. More specifically, the two-headed one of Russia, and the bald eagle of the US. I don't know, maybe I'm in the mood for politics... Though Russia is getting some serious shit as of late.

Alfred texted me a while ago, but I keep my phone on mute. It's really annoying when you wake up from a nap to a phone call.

Alfred: u wanna eat out or smthn? im getting tired of school food lol

It's not like I have anything to do, so I text him back.

sure, whatever. But not mcdonalds please

Alfred: wat makes u thnk so?

you're american

Alfred: touche. nah my bro kiku recd this ramen place on campus. u free at 6?

Alfred: good ramen nt the msg instant knd

ok

Alfred: its a date? ; )

yeah whatever

I toss my phone onto my desk. I guess I should finish that sketch sometime, post something that isn't hella depressing or dark.

There's a pile of origami cranes on the windowsill, a roll of twine, and a couple of shitty hangers. The Japanese guy who lives a few doors down taught me how to make them one time when we were both waiting to do the laundry. Hell, a thousand paper cranes are supposed to represent hope and stuff, but these are all in different shades of black. I guess I was planning on making a shit load of them and hanging them up somewhere for the irony, but now it seems kind of pointless.

It's 5:30 right now. I still have time to kill and a shit load of origami to dispose of. Dunno, maybe I can sell it off to some weaboo on Tumblr. Or... I can just throw it out. Yeah, that's a better idea.

I change into a Hima U shirt and a black knit hoodie. Now, where the hell is the garbage disposal thing? Whatever, I'll find one somewhere. Probably...

So I'm wandering the halls in search for some garbage disposal thing when Alfred finds me.

"Dude, that's a lot of origami... What're you doing with it?"

I shrug. "Throwing it out. I got to around 250 cranes before I gave up."

"I'll take it. Just, dunno, hang it up or something."

He takes the stuff and starts walking to his room. I follow him.

"So yeah, welcome to this awesome kingdom-thing of mine... I, uh, sorry, uh, it's really messy." Yeah. Ramen packaging everywhere and cans of Red Bull.

"There's a reason why me and Yao don't touch Gilbert's side of the room. I think you're fine." Seriously, bird feathers in the weirdest places, wherever the fuck they come from. A few stray cans of Budweiser and a whole mountain of dirty clothes. "I think he's raising pigeons or something. You see godammed feathers everywhere."

"You hate pigeons?"

"I told you, I'm from Manhattan. Those guys are everywhere. You don't know how much bread I lost to them."

"You got a point there, bro. It's the same thing in DC, except with politicians and interns."

"Mm. You're paying for the ramen, I don't have any money." I should find a job, but screwups like me aren't the best candidates for a barista or something.

* * *

I have to admit, the ramen is really nice here. Alfred's friend has good taste, even though he's probably the same guy who calls me Rossuke and doesn't like me that much. I'm not holding that against him, I don't like myself either.

He's babbling on about why Captain America is better than Iron Man, even though Civil War came out like, last year. But I don't mind, he's doing the talking for both of us. It's really cute, actually. He gets so into it and manages to talk through mouthfuls of ramen, though I feel like he needs a napkin or two.

"Hey, so what you think?"

So like, I know what's going on with Marvel in general, but I haven't really watched any movies... "Uh, I kind of like the Winter Soldier..."

He pumps his fist. "Called it! I knew you were a Bucky Barnes guy! It's because he's gotta do with Russia, right?"

"No, he's just cool."

"Eh, whatever. You're a pretty skinny dude, I bet you can't outdrink me."

"Of course I could, I'm Russian."

"Okay, just stop with the stereotypes."

"But seriously, in Russia vodka is cheaper than water, that's why they drink so much. You probably can't beat me. Over time, Russians have evolved to have livers of steel." Besides, back in sophomore year of high school I was probably stronger than most people in the athletics department. Then I stopped doing ballet, and considering my current lack of muscles, I'm hella out of shape. Whatever, it's not like I'll be going back soon, with me so jacked on antidepressants.

Alfred grins. "We'll see, man."

"Wait, wait, we're only college sophmores. You're 20, at most."

"19. But there's plenty at the frat lodge."

"No."

"Yes."

"My mom would kill me if we get chewed out for this."

"The worst that's happened is someone making a huge-ass bonfire in front of the building and it almost burned down."

"…When was that?"

"Last year."

"Just, I don't know, get the booze and we can get smashed in one of our rooms. I don't appreciate 99% of the male population."

He wiggles his eyebrows "What, so I'm an angel?"

I finished my ramen, so I throw my chopsticks at him. "Hell no." I pause, and then add "But you're really cheerful, for some reason. I'll give you that."

"No, that's why you love me."

I tolerate you more than, say, Gilbert. You're someone I'd spend time with if I had to. But I sure as hell don't love you... Even if you were stuck in a coma for probably the rest of your life, I'll push you away. I don't want anyone to get hurt when I screw up and die, or in your hypothetical case, the slight chance you wake up and find out I'm gone.

I don't respond to Alfred's jibe. Instead, we both sit in this awkward silence, me swirling around my bowl with its remaining bits of soup.

He clears his throat. "Yeah... Uh, I'm done too... I pay, right?"

"Yeah."

He pays the bill and we leave, walking side by side down a cobblestone pathway. The two of us part ways at the Gentosha lobby. He goes to wherever the hell he goes, me to my dorm room. Does he think I'm an asshole? That's not the first time someone thought so, but for some reason, with him it concerns me... Whatever. Yao' out somewhere that involves being formal, Gilbert's probably out drinking. I got the room to myself, but it feels sort of lonely.

Ame was messaging me a few hours ago. Wanting advice for some date... I would've rolled my eyes or something.

American-Beauty: dude i need some help

i just askd out this guy i really like

red or blu tie?

ok imma stop cuz ur probs not here

I can't just leave him hanging, so...

caustic-nuclear-winter: Sorry about that

I'm assuming youre back from the date

How was it?

American-Beauty: oh hey

it was pretty ok

then it was knda awk cuz i sorta confessed 2 him

idk wat if i screwed up?

caustic-nuclear-winter: I think youre fine

It was probably just out of the blue for him

That's kind of your thing

American-Beauty: trueeeee

caustic-nuclear-winter: He'll probably be back to normal tomorrow

Ame doesn't reply after five minutes, so he's either calmed down or flipping out. Probably less anxious and doing whatever the fuck Tumblr mutuals do.

The bird sketch is next to my computer, but I don't feel like doing anything right now. The windowsill looks kind of empty without the cranes, but I'll get used to it sooner or later.

I kind of just sit there at my desk until I hear Yao unlocking the door. He seems a little pissed, but then again that's him on a regular basis. His tie's loosened and flapping around and he untucked his shirt. "I keep on forgetting how much of an asshole the people I like are. How are you so, like, asexual?"

Well, fuck. I'll probably have to listen to his ranting now. "I'm arelationshipal. I have better things to do."

"Whatever. Temujin- you know Temujin?"

"Yeah, whoever the hell he is." I go over to my bed and wrap my sheets around myself, Wayward Vagabond style.

"He's this Mongolian exchange student." Okay, this random guy from asscrack-nowhere. "I'm sort of dating him, but aaaaauuuugggh..."

Yao rambles on about his relationship problems and I zone out. He's a really good roommate, but sometimes he does need to chill out.

It reminds me of lazy weekends back home, when Natalya would complain about people at school, Mama would pester us about our grades, and I was still trying to find myself. Papa would sneak us alcohol, and Katya was applying for college. Except that now, instead of my Manhattan apartment, I'm sitting on a creaky bed in a cinder-block dorm room, and instead of my family, it's my roommate ranting about his life drama.

* * *

Reviewing keeps you safe from white supremacists and neo-nazis. Stay safe, everyone in close proximity to Charlottesville.


	5. Misery

Oh my god I am so fucking sorry this is supposed to be chapter five here it is in it's rightful place go back to four hopefully it's the right one now

* * *

I am so fucking sick of beer.

This morning, I woke up from a weird-ass dream about piroshki, the bloody corpse of my dad, and the 2016 election, to Gilbert stacking empty beer cans on me. So I did the asshole thing and rolled over, destroying his Leaning Tower of Shit. Gilbert proceeded to throw a small fit about that, I insulted him and his family twice removed, and promptly slipped on a Bud Light. I guess I deserved that, doing the asshole thing, but I was trying to have a marginally okay weekend without the disturbances brought around by egoistical roommates.

They probably did some weird crap last night, since there's shattered bottles of Heineken and the distinct smell of alcohol on the damp carpet. That happens a lot; I'm just surprised I managed to sleep through it.

Gilbert was left to clean up all that stuff, and I left with a sketchbook to a cafe on the border of Hima and Hussie.

Hussie College's basically next door to Hima, and it's been rumored to shelter aliens. But then again, they've also been said to make doomsday devices, and it's not like Hima has its share of weird stuff. You can go look back on that historically accurate guillotine for further evidence. Anyways, my point is, Hussie is pretty weird.

In the cafe, there's a guy sitting on the windowsill drinking apple juice, and another one who's having an identity crisis because coffee with milk isn't, direct quote, STRONG. Whatever. I sit in the corner and doodle. Would sitting in a coffee shop without ordering anything be freeloading? STRONG coffee guy finally decided on his order, and now he's muttering about the function of void in java programming.

Hey, I'm not trying to eavesdrop. He's pretty loud.

Now he's cursing Trump about giving the blank check for that Dakota Oil Pipeline and getting rid of Obamacare, while some Asian girl tries to calm him down. Apple juice guy tells him to shut the fuck up, and the pissed cashier guy flips both of them off. It occurs to me that I'm people watching more than being productive, but Hussie people are pretty interesting. But I should probably do something. But it's not like anyone's checking this stuff. But I probably should.

Yeah, I should probably draw a bit...

I try sketching out some random stuff, but just-This is utter bullshit. What am I doing with my life.

Why didn't I just stay in the dorm?

Oh, right. The token obnoxious roommate.

I get a text from Yao, which I only know about because I forgot to silence my phone.

The Lord of the Rice: You better have taken your meds

The pills are still on the bedside table-thing. I wonder how long it would take before some police guy tries talking me out of jumping off a bridge. No, I'm not serious. God. It's not like there'll be a crowd at my funeral, anyway.

My head aches a bit, for some reason. It's the sort that comes after someone wakes you up from a nap, the kind that you want to sleep off. But I can't sleep it off. The sun still seems like a demonic flashlight. I'm still contemplating life.

Why am I doing this? I just want a break...

I growl out of frustration and make my way back home. Gilbert's normally an egocentric asshole, but he knows when to leave me alone. It's probably one of the few things I like about him.

* * *

Luka,

I'm sorry you're dead.

I know that's kind of weird to say, but I can't stop feeling like I could've prevented it. I could've dragged you over to my house for the night, like what we always did back in middle school. That's kind of selfish of me, though. Your dad would've still shot your brother. But I really don't know. You were there one day, and six feet under the next.

I remember the last thing you said to me was "See you later." You said that at the end of every school day. I didn't expect that one to be the last, that there wouldn't really be another 'later'. So I guess I'm kind of sorry for that. That I couldn't have saved you.

No, that sounds really cliche, and it doesn't really fit, either. I'm sorry that you left this world too early, with too many loose ends flapping in the metaphorical wind.

I had a crush on you back then. I would say don't laugh if you could laugh (?) It was a passing thing, I got over it . The thing is, though, you always stood by me. Back when I went through that memelord phase and acted like a total ass, you put up with it. You went with me to the pride march, even though you were undoubtedly straight.

I remember thinking that I never got to say that I loved you. I'm sorry about that too, cause I did love you. Not in that way, but like how a best friend should, what people in Hussie call a 'moirail'. A platonic soulmate of sorts.

So I can't really pin down why I'm really sorry. I don't know how to end this letter.

I chew on the end of my pencil. I know how ridiculous it is to write a letter to a dead man, but I feel like I need to get this out of my system. Luka, he was a close friend of mine. Died in my sophmore year of high school, shot by his dad. I guess I didn't have anything to do with it, but if me over to my house that day, he might still be alive.

I rub the lenses of my glasses. They're a bit foggy... I think I was crying a bit while writing this...

I'm currently sitting at my desk, scribbling my depressed thoughts out on a piece of lined paper to a dead man. This really is sad...

Bluh. I'm switching over to Tumblr when Ame strikes up a converstation.

American-Beauty: hey

caustic-nuclear-winter: Hi

American-Beauty: hows life?

caustic-nuclear-winter: Oscillating between annoying and depressing

What? I'm being honest, and also most likely going to freak him out, but with the intention of being honest.

American-Beauty: u ok?

caustic-nuclear-winter: Yeah

caustic-nuclear-winter: Thinking about a dead friend, though it's probably also cause i forgot to take my meds

American-Beauty: dude take them!

American-Beauty: i dont want u ded or anythin

American-Beauty: i like talkin 2 u ok? its a break frm all the pervs i gotta deal wth

caustic-nuclear-winter: I pity you on that

American-Beauty: bro take ur meds

caustic-nuclear-winter: Ok I will

I reach over to the orange bottle next to my bed and shake out a few pills, before swallowing them. Eurgh, I should've had some water with it.

caustic-nuclear-winter: Happy?

American-Beauty: fucking pumped

American-Beauty: bro

American-Beauty: listen

American-Beauty: i have no idea what probs u hav

American-Beauty: but peopl care bout u

American-Beauty: dont die

I'm not going to die soon. Not after everything that happened... But I still rub my forearms self-consciously.

caustic-nuclear-winter: Got it

I crumple up my letter and throw it out the window. There's no use in dwelling on the past.

* * *

Reviewing will help me get back into the rhythm of this I'm getting distracted by a rather homestuckian plot bunny.


	6. Afternoons

I guess I was in the mood for fluff or something but I really need to continue this half-assed plot

* * *

 _Click click click_

An exceptionally tall teenager stares at the computer screen. Her story is going alright, but it seems a bit... Lacking. It was sort of a shitty idea to do first person, was it?

Nevertheless, it seems like something's missing.

 _Tap tap_

She had a penchant for writing second person, anyway.

 _Click click click_

* * *

Your name is Alfred F. Jones. You... Lets not talk about that right now. There are huge-ass hypothetical fish you need to fry. Like, really big. Megalo-whatever sized. You know, those prehistoric sharks. You're getting off topic, too... What were you going to talk about?

Oh right. Huge-ass hypothetical fish. Yeah. Uh. Like, what is your actual relationship with Ivan? You're pretty sure you guys are just friends, though you kissed him that one time and he didn't mind... And you find him pretty hot... And you kind of want to tap that ass.

⇒No Al, keep this PG.

Sorry. But you really do want to tap his ass. It's probably nice and round, a bit firm but still really squishy...

⇒Alfred.

Okay, okay, you point is, you have a pretty serious crush on Ivan.

You're currently burritoed in your comforter, trying to sleep even though it's like, 2pm Sunday afternoon. But that's the whole point! Weekends are for sleeping in ridiculously late trying to avoid that one essay! You ran out of imported tea to bribe your cousin Arthur with, so you gotta write this one yourself, too.

Perhaps you'll go visit the Russian sex god. He might help you out with the essay, not to mention you can ogle his ass in skinny jeans or something.

You walk over to the triple, which you only remember because they live across your bro Kiku. You're pretty sure he doesn't like them that much. Gilbert opens the door. "I would say keep it down because Yao's tired from doing doctor stuff, but nah."

You grin "I'll blast Metallica or something, don't worry." Even though Metallica isn't your cup of, uh, tea, and this really wasn't why you came here, but pissing off people is kind of funny.

You end up not blasting death metal or something because you sort of pity the short Chinese guy passed out at his desk, face on the textbook. Give him some five hour energy or something, really.

Ivan's sitting cross-legged on his bed, leaning against the wall. He's wearing a slightly oversized shirt and fuzzy pants with dancing bears on them. You supress the urge to either kiss his forehead or smooth down his bedhead, or maybe both. "When did you wake up?"

He blinks a few times before squinting in your general direction. " I don't know, I've been contemplating life for a while and thinking about getting breakfast. Mr. Asian grandpa there needs a better schedule, too. He's wrecking his brain like this, which is pretty ironic since he's majoring in psych."

"What, does he test out Freudian theory?" You admire how the shirt accentuates his lanky frame and broad shoulders.

"I don't think that's how it works, but probably."

"Hm." His eyes are really pretty...

"Al?"

"Huh?!"

"You were zoning out."

"Oh. Uh, you wanna go to dOHI?" Are you blushing? You feel like you're blushing.

"What?"

"IHOP. It's dOHI, but upside down."

He smiles a bit. "Sure."

* * *

"But dude, I still don't get it."

"It's just so... Greasy..."

"But bacon is awesome! I mean, sure, more for me, but still."

Ivan takes another bite of his crepe "I just don't really like it."

" I'm taking your bacon, then."

"Sure."

He slipped a hoodie over his shirt. You noticed red marks on his forearms, which were pretty concerning, but you weren't going to pry. IHOP is amazing. Bacon is amazing. And the adorable guy sitting across from you gave you his portion. God you love him.

Something pokes your hand. It's Ivan, with a bite of crepe on his fork. He holds it out to you. "Want some?"

You open your mouth. He raises his eyebrows, but feeds you anyway. It tastes like lemon and butter, a bit of whipped cream and pastry. "Damn, that's good."

"It's okay."

"It's fucking amazing, dude! It's not just okay !"

"... I meant okay as in pretty good?"

"M'not convinced."

"Bluh."

The two of you end up talking about small things. How gay the Greeks were (Ganymede kind of supported that), why the Aztecs were so fucking devoted to their prophecies, whether aliens existed or not.

"I swear Tony is an alien. He stays in the basement doing his alien thing, he even made me some cool shit."

"Mhm." He doesn't seem that convinced.

"And the Roswell thing. How d'you explain that?"

"The US Air Force said it was a weather balloon."

"It's the Air Force, dude! They might be sheltering aliens and the balloon thing's just a coverup! I mean, there's pictures of dead aliens found at the site."

"They might be fake." He takes another bite of crepe.

"Might, dude, might. Aliens might also exist, those pictures might be real and there might actually be aliens out there."

"Planning to avenge their brethren who died in 1947 or something?"

"Probably. And Hussie. We both know they're rumored to shelter aliens who troll people on the internet."

You finish your food and drag Ivan outside. The sky is cloudy, but otherwise it's pretty nice for late autumn.

"My sister's probably gotten detention at least once by now."

You turn to face him. "What?"

"My sister Natalya. She's a senior at high school and gets into fights a lot. Other than getting in trouble a shit load for beating people up, she does a ton of impromptu psych experiments on me."

"Pavlovian conditioning?"

"Now I lose my shit whenever she says 'marry me'."

You grin. "Can't let that happen." Did you mention how pretty his eyes are? Those are definitely natural, despite what he says. "My bro Mattie, he's studying abroad in Canada. Something about Arctic mammals? Some Biology thing, anyway. He made friends with a polar bear cub. Like, it follows him around and stuff."

"He's a parent now, I guess."

"Yeah, Kuma probably thinks he's his mom or something... Can you help me on my essay?"

"Payback for your notes a few days ago?"

"Dude, I'm perfectly fine letting you borrow my notes, really." Because I kind of like you... "I just need help on my essay."

He grabs your wrist and walks to the direction of the dorms. "... I'll try. But the thing is, I'm an artist, not a writer."

* * *

You guess Gilbert woke up Yao while the two of you were out, because the desk is lacking both his sleeping self and the textbook. Your Prussian bro is out, too.

Ivan unplugs his laptop and takes it over to his bed. "I've done an outline thing, but I don't feel like researching anything right now."

"Bro, I didn't even start. I mean, he gave us three weeks."

"There's probably a reason for the three weeks. The nature of the universe."

"Yeah, how does that work? Are we supposed to like, give our own argument? This is like Astronomy 101, we probably aren't supposed to go all Higgs boson." You sit next to him on the bed.

"Yeah." He pushes up his glasses. "So what do you think?"

"Uh, the universe is a frog?"

"Something more intellectual. I'm pretty sure you can't prove that."

"The universe does its thing in its bubble of three dimensions while it moves along in the fourth?"

"Sure."

The afternoon sun shines through the window, the sky must've cleared up after a while. You lean on Ivan's shoulder, listening to the clicks of the keyboard as he types out an outline.

* * *

Beep beep Ima sheep I said beep beep Ima sheep

Donate reviews to the cause of me actually being a useful writer for once.

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